Stale Videos - Moldova Pre-Service Training

Monday, June 27, 2011

Appointments

My host families’ house is located near the center of Cenac, right off only the only paved street in town. Our neighbors include the discoteca/culture house (a stout one room building with very pink walls), the basirica and the post office. Up the street a ways are two of Cenac’s main stores and the Mayor’s office. Across the street from the Mayors office is Cenac’s only school.

Also next to the Mayor’s office, in what might be described as the “town square,” is a small stretch of road where people wait to hitchhike out of the village. As I mentioned in my last entry, hitchhiking is widespread: in my village, for instance, probably as many people hitchhike and carpool as own cars - probably more. When I walk through central Cenac, no matter the time of day, I’m likely to see villagers of all ages waiting for a car to Cimislia, the county center. Many are students on their way to school or older people buying produce. Like anywhere else in the world, people have to run errands. In Cenac, 10 lei (a little less than a dollar) is the understood toll for getting there.

Cenac’s only bus leaves for Cimislia once every day, in the morning. If a Moldovan misses that bus, she waits for a passing car. It’s partly due to these kind of transportation issues that the phrase “time is of the essence” isn’t in the Moldovan lexicon. Far from it. Punctuality seems like a foreign concept. (Luckily, punctuality isn’t expected either. Stopping for a 45 minute lunch at 1:50 PM on the way to a 2:00 PM meeting is entirely acceptable. People have to eat after all!).

For Americans in Moldova, this takes some adjusting to. Errands that might take a single morning in the United States often take a full day here. What would be daylong tasks take several, three-day tasks a week, weeklong tasks….well, you get the picture.

When I first got to site I would often ride with my host father into town, instead of taking the bus. “Domnul (Mr.) Ion,” I’d say, “I’m leaving for Cimislia tomorrow morning.”

“Yes? With who do you go?”

“With the autobus.”

-Waving dismissively- “Go with me tomorrow. I go to Cimislia.”

“Thank you Domnul Ion. But what time will we leave? I must be in Chisinau (the capitol) early. If you have other things to do I will take the bus. It is no problem”


-Hearty laughter- “We will leave at 9AM. There is no doubt.”

The next day.

9:30AM

Outside, Domnul Ion approaches.

“What are you doing here Mat? Soon, we have left.”

“OK Domnul Ion. Tell me when you are ready.”

10:30AM

Domnul Ion walks toward the car. Excellent, I think. I call out. “We are leaving now, yes?”

He turns to me, “No. Măt! You stay here! I must go to the tractors. I will come soon. And soon we have left.”

11:30AM

“Măt! Let’s go! We have left!”

11:45AM

The car stops outside the Mayor’s office.

“Măt! You stay in the car. I have to do one thing here. Soon we have left.”

12:00PM

We drive into the middle of some field and stop.

“Măt! You stay in the car. I must check the grapevines here.”

12:50PM

Finally, we pull into Cimislia’s bus station, “See! We have arrived early! Call me when you return and I will come for you!”

“Thanks Domnul Ion.”

Despite knowing that I’d arrive at my destination 2-3 hours later than intended, I repeated some version of this episode several times early in my service. It was difficult to get used to, if only because he so emphatically insisted that I go with him instead of taking the autobus. But I would learn in time, and something I should have realized earlier, is that his insistence was borne of his hospitality. It’s his nature. He did not want me to have to take the public bus if he could help me himself. Indeed, he was providing me with a service most volunteers go without, and one which I, and few Moldovans, rarely are able to take advantage of. He assumed I could wait because a service like that was so rare. In a situation like this, time is not of the essence.

Still, it wasn’t long before I began taking the morning bus.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Little House


On the surface, village life isn’t quite Little House on the Prairie. Life can be difficult. Luxuries are scant, paying jobs are scarce and money is hard to come by. The winter is cold, and wood fires, used to heat the houses, do little to warm winter nights. Strange odors permeate. Roads are unpaved and muddy. Infrastructure is dilapidated.

And yet, one doesn't have to search much to find the quaint aspects of life that inspired myths like Little House. People are neighborly – it’s rude not to say “good day” to someone on the street, even to someone you haven’t met before. If you have met the person, it’s expected that you stop and talk (Imagine if you had to stop and talk to every one of your neighbors you saw every day. My bet is you probably don’t, I know I didn’t). These discussions add to Cenac’s personable nature. Romanian is an old language, and can sound almost gallant, reflecting a more gracious time, long past (“Good day, sir. I am called Matt, what do they call you? It is my pleasure.”)

Furthermore, mutual difficulty inspires a communal approach to addressing problems. For example, Cenac has communal clean-up days (it’s different from volunteer park clean-ups in the States. Moldovan villagers feel obligated to participate, as opposed cleaning up out of a sense of civic duty. There is a subtle difference). Birthday parties, or masa’s, are hosted by whoever’s birthday it is, and he/she prepares the food and drink for people attending. Villagers also share resources we normally would consider private, valuables that we might hesitate to lend out in the United States.

Another good example of Moldova’s communal approach to solving problems is hitchhiking, one of the main modes of transportation not only in the rural villages, but all over Moldova. In the United States, hitchhikers are the exception, and most people I know would hesitate to pick one up. Not in Moldova. If a Moldovan has an open seat in his car, and he sees a hitchhiker (he invariably will, and at multiple points during his journey), he stops without a thought to pick them up.

In the spring and summer, when flowers bloom and cherries blossom, Moldova can be picturesque. Right now, for instance, I can literally walk out of my room and eat fresh cherries, raspberries, strawberries and prunes. If I go into the garage, I can sample some of the freshly harvested, high quality honeycomb. If I wait another month, the watermelons will be ripe, and we will eat between 2 and 3 a day. Sounds amazing right? It is. But it’s also only 3 months of the year. During the winter, fresh fruits and vegetables are nearly impossible to come by. Instead we eat pickled versions that we spent the summer and fall preparing: Pickled tomatoes, pickled cucumbers, pickled cabbage, pickled peppers, and, yes, pickled watermelons. By mid-February you’ll have trouble telling them apart.

So yes, like anything else on TV, mass media romanticizes what rural village life is actually like. That doesn’t mean that villages aren’t quaint and can’t be great places to live. It just means that, much like the Peace Corps, village life isn’t a vacation. The secret to unlocking the real Little House is hard, back-breaking work. It’s a lifestyle that’s difficult to grasp through the Hollywood prism. But Moldovans know where to find it, at the end of a hot summer day, amidst the sunflowers and cherry trees.